


Destinies written in the stars

by tinypatroclus (oneisforsorrow)



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Death, Fluff, Homophobic Language, Illnesses, M/M, Suicide, Terminal Illnesses, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 13:15:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4350179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneisforsorrow/pseuds/tinypatroclus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patroclus has lived many lives, each one with Achilles by his side. But will they ever find happiness, and finally let their souls come to rest?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Destinies written in the stars

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for homophobic slurs, suicide, deaths from illness, plus just lots of death in general (sorry!)

The first time he dies, it’s on the war ravaged land of Troy. Hector stands above him and drags the soul from his body in a single blow. Patroclus feels pain that is soon gone, only to be replaced by an emptiness that consumes his wandering spirit. He hears his lover’s cry; the cry heard only when the bond between soul mates is severed by death. He watches as Achilles sobs against the material that the lifeless body still wears.

“Achilles,” he whispers, reaching out to place a hand on Achilles’ heaving shoulders. “Dear Achilles, please don’t cry.” But Achilles hears nothing, feeling only a slight shiver when he’s touched.

“Patroclus!” he wails in anguish, clutching at the cold form of his lover, his dearest companion. “Hector will pay for what he has done!”

Patroclus flinches as Achilles shouts these last words. Never has he seen him so enraged. He wants to hold him back as he races from his tent. But he can’t. He’s just a whisper, a shadow, a ghost...

He sees Achilles die. He sees him slip from the earth, a smile on his face.

He searches for Achilles in the darkness. A hand reaches for him.

“Achilles,” he says, golden light bursting from where their fingers touch.

Then he’s born again.

 

-

 

The second time he dies, it is again on a battlefield. This time, he’s an English soldier, fighting for his king, Achilles. They are in love, but must hide it. Achilles has a beautiful wife and his son who will one day take his throne. Patroclus is nothing, just a servant boy who disgraced his noble family.

The night before they go to face their final battle, he sneaks into the king’s chambers. Achilles’ wife sleeps in another room that night, per his command. Nobody disobeys the king. They’re curled up together, naked, Patroclus with his nose nuzzling against Achilles’ fine, curly locks of golden hair.

“I fear I may die tomorrow,” Achilles says, curling his fingertips around Patroclus’s.

“My lord, you are the greatest king ever to lead our country. You will not die.”

“I can feel it. I feel this is the end.”

Patroclus looks up at him with his brown eyes wide and sorrowful. “Well, if this is the end, I must stay with you until dawn breaks.”

Achilles cuddles him closer and kisses his soft lips over and over until they both fall asleep.

The next day, they are charging into battle. They both ride horses, charging towards the enemy along with the rest of the soldiers, others on horseback, some on foot, all of them with their spears and bows and swords pointing outwards and forwards. Patroclus’s chest tightens underneath his armour. He sees Achilles gallop up beside him. For a moment, their eyes meet.

This won’t be the end, Patroclus thinks. This won’t be the end. I’ll see him again. We’ll be together. This won’t be the—

And that’s when the arrow goes straight into him. Through a gap in his armour. Oh, it’s a small gap, but it is enough. For a moment, Patroclus stays in the saddle, too stunned to think and to realize what has happened. He looks to his left, sees the horror on Achilles’ face.

Then he falls, hitting the ground with a thud as his horse canters on. The world goes dark and his spirit stumbles out from his dead body that bleeds out onto the grass.

His hollow self wanders through the rest of the battle, weapons going straight through him without him feeling a thing. He sees Achilles, his battle style wild and furious.

“I know you’re in pain, my lord, but don’t sacrifice yourself for my sake. Please.”

Like in their first lives, Achilles hears none of the words that Patroclus’s spirit speaks to him. He continues to slash with his sword, defend with his shield, killing dozens of enemy soldiers as he goes.

That is until a low swung sword pierces through the back of his foot, sending him falling face down onto the grass. He lays still, the dark red blood staining the back of his leather boot, trickling out on the ground. Patroclus watches Achilles’ eyes go blank. He’s gone.

He hears a voice. Achilles.

He turns to see his king looking more bright and radiant than he ever did while alive. There’s a smile on his face and softness in his eyes.

“Patroclus,” he whispers.

Patroclus hasn’t heard that name in this lifetime. He’s had another name. But he knows when he hears it that that is what his true name is.

“Achilles,” he says back, reaching out for him.

They touch and they’re reborn.

 

-

 

The third time he dies, it is of sickness. Plague rages through Europe, leaving thousands, if not millions dead in its wake.

Patroclus was taken by Achilles’ family as a boy, raised like a second son to Achilles’ father, known in another life as Peleus. They are taught to read and to write and that already gives them a head start in the world. They look to the future, wishing for better days for their country.

One night, while gazing up at the blazing sky of stars above, Achilles takes Patroclus’s hand. It is softer than Achilles’ own, for Patroclus has never been part of the carpentry business that Peleus runs and hopes to pass along to Achilles one day.

“My dearest friend,” he begins, looking deep into Patroclus’s eyes. “I know it is said to be a sin in the eyes of God but... I believe I love thee in the way that a man should love a woman. Please forgive me.”

Achilles bows his head, only to have his chin tilted back up a moment later by Patroclus.

“There is nothing to forgive,” he whispers.

The bells of the town church toll twelve and the two boys share a forbidden kiss as the moon shines on, casting cool light onto the world below.

A month later, the sickness arrives. They first hear from the baker’s son that many people in the town have caught it and those who catch it are dying within days. Achilles fears for Patroclus, as his companion was born a weaker than himself, thin, with little muscle.

But it is himself that Achilles should have been worried about. The plague reaches him and he is imprisoned in his room as he coughs and sweats and vomits and falls into fitful sleeps. Patroclus is warned not to visit him. But how can he not? Every evening when Achilles’ father has retired to his bed, Patroclus sneaks into Achilles’ room to dab a cold, damp cloth to Achilles’ forehead, to sing him sweet songs and to hold his hand.

“You’ll catch my sickness,” Achilles says, time and time again. He wouldn’t wish his illness on his worst enemy and knows his heart will stop beating should he find out that Patroclus too has begun to suffer from it.

“I care not, my love. I must tend to you and make you well.”

For all that he tries, Patroclus cannot make Achilles better. Soon, just as Achilles predicted, Patroclus has the plague too. And he dies from it much quicker than Achilles. When Peleus comes to Achilles room to tell him of Patroclus’s passing, a hole is ripped through Achilles body. He coughs blood violently that night and his father holds him as he slips away from the world.

Achilles sees Patroclus when he opens his eyes. He looks as healthy as he was before the plague, if not more so. Achilles knows he’s been here before. He knows he only has a few seconds with Patroclus while they are detached from bodies. He holds out a hand for Patroclus to take.

They swirl through time, start over again.

 

-

 

The fourth time he dies, Patroclus is killed not by sword or illness, but by the harsh words of the people around him. “Faggot” the other boys call him as they pelt him with stones. “Queer!” they yell, laughing as somebody punches his face black and blue. He can’t find Achilles. In this life, he’s not there yet.

“Please!” he begs them, crying out in pain. But they don’t stop. He’s been knocked to the floor and somebody is kicking him repeatedly in his side. Every part of his body aches with old bruises and scars, each one layered over an even older injury.

There’s something in his mind that tells him to scream, “Achilles! Help” and it only makes the boys laugh harder. They don’t know who Achilles is. Patroclus doesn’t even know. Where is he? Where is he?

“You guys better back the fuck away before I get nasty, okay?”

There’s a voice. The kicking stops and the boys back away. Standing above him is an older guy, with long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. He looks about college age, maybe nineteen, twenty. He reaches out a hand for Patroclus.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice soft and concerned. Patroclus just blinks at him. There is a voice in the back of his head telling him he knows this person.

“You his boyfriend?” one of Patroclus’s classmates asks, sniggering. Right then, Achilles slams the guy against the brick wall by the neck and pulls him up off the ground, kneeing him in the crotch. The boy howls and squeezes his eyes shut.

“I didn’t mean it, man! Honest!” he stammers. Achilles smirks and leans in threateningly.

“If you ever bother that guy again, you can bet your sorry little ass that I’m going to be around to teach you a goddamn lesson. Understood?”

The boy nods fearfully and Achilles puts him down with a smirk.

“Now get lost.”

And they do. They run from the alleyway, like mice fleeing from a hungry cat.

“Th-thank you,” Patroclus says quietly, still having a hard time believing that the whole situation really happened.

“You’re welcome, buddy,” Achilles replies, getting a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it up. Patroclus stares at him in awe. Achilles is just so cool.

“Why’d you do that?” he asks, moving to leans up against the wall beside Achilles. “I am what they call me... I am a queer... doesn’t that bother you?”

Achilles laughs and shakes his head. “Why would I mind? You’re part of my crew.”

Patroclus’s eyes widen. “You mean you’re...”

Achilles nods and after a few more drags of his cigarette, he drops it to the floor and puts it out with his heel.

“I’d tell you to ignore them, but that’s shit advice. Just keep your head up, alright? You ain’t got nothin’ to be ashamed of.”

He cups Patroclus’s cheek and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“One day, we’re going to live in a world where boys can kiss boys whenever, wherever. This just ain’t that world yet.”

Patroclus wants to hold onto him forever, but knows he can’t. He wants him to stay, but knows he won’t. Achilles walks in one direction, Patroclus goes the other. They won’t see each other again in this life. It’s not the right life. They can’t be whole here.

The bullies come back. Patroclus’s life is taken by his own hand and his spirit spirals and swirls, until he sees Achilles. He doesn’t know how Achilles has died. He doesn’t ask. He just reaches out to touch him.

 

-

 

The fifth time he dies, Patroclus is ready to go when his time comes. He has lived a wonderful life.

He meets Achilles when they start school together, just little boys who scrape their knees as they play and get covered in mud as they explore the big, wide world. Achilles still has his golden hair, his blue eyes. Patroclus still has his shaggy, brown hair, his chocolate coloured eyes. They’re together, best friends forever.

They journey through the years together, turning from kids to teenagers. They both grow taller between the ages of fourteen and eighteen, Achilles more so than Patroclus. Achilles also has more muscle, while Patroclus is always skinny, no matter how much he eats. But Achilles, sweet Achilles, tells him he’s beautiful no matter what.

It is on Patroclus’s fifteenth birthday that Achilles first admits to being gay. And this life is not like their last. Now, it is okay for Achilles to be that way. And it is okay for Patroclus to say that he likes both boys and girls. And it is okay for them to share a sweet kiss on Achilles’ bed while their half finished maths homework goes ignored.

Achilles insists that they go to their high school prom together. Patroclus isn’t certain. For all that the world has changed; there are still some people that don’t accept their relationship.

“Pat,” Achilles tells him, taking both his hands as they sit face to face on the grass of Patroclus’s garden. “I won’t let anybody bother us, okay? We deserve to go to prom as much as any of the straight guys going with their girls. We’ll get matching suits and we’ll dance all night. And everything will be fine, I promise.”

Patroclus still isn’t sure. But he smiles at Achilles and kisses him. It’s a thank you. An ‘I love you.’

They go to prom and, just as Achilles says, everything is fine. Better than fine, in fact. It’s the best night of Patroclus’s life. He dances with Achilles all night long. Well, almost all night long. His other best friend Briseis insists on dancing with him and they laugh as he twirls her around on the dance floor. When it gets to the slow song, however, Achilles steps in and takes Patroclus’s hand and holds him close as they sway along with all the other couples.

“I love you,” he says, leaning in close to Patroclus’s ear.

“I love you, too.”

Life rushes on. Patroclus goes to university to study medicine. Achilles has a short-lived but very successful running career, ended by a leg injury. Having finished his studies, Patroclus decides that they should move in together. They buy a flat and the first week of ownership is spent painting it. They end up getting more paint on themselves than on the walls most of the time and have to take lots of long showers together to clean it all off. But of course that’s not all they get up to in the shower...

By now, they’ve been together more than ten years. Everybody is asking them if they’re going to get married. It is such a wonderful world, Patroclus thinks to himself, where they can actually get married, just like any man and woman.

It is Achilles who proposes. He takes Patroclus on a trip to Paris and gets out the ring on top of the Eifel Tower. And, Achilles being Achilles, he has to make a big show of it. There’s a band and what starts out as a small choir serenading him with ‘Never tear us apart’. Gradually, the crowd around them start joining in one by one until everybody is singing and Patroclus is crying happy tears.

Achilles takes his hand and kneels to the floor and proposes with lots of gushing word of love that Patroclus barely hears because his love for Achilles has consumed all his other senses. However, he does hear Achilles say, “My love, will you do me the great honour of becoming my husband?”

“Yes,” Patroclus manages to squeak out, watching with blurry eyes as Achilles slips the ring onto his finger. Patroclus falls into his arms and hugs him like he’s never going to let go.

It’s a small wedding, just close friends and family. Patroclus, having been in care for all his childhood, doesn’t have any family to speak of, but Achilles’ father embraces him like a son. Achilles’ mother, Thetis, is there, staying silent, her eyes cold. Patroclus doesn’t know if she approves of their union. Then of course, there is Briseis, looking wonderfully bright in a daffodil yellow dress, her black hair tied up high.

“Oh, Pat,” she says, pulling Patroclus into a hug when she sees him for the first time in his suit, standing nervously by the altar at the church. “You look so handsome! Achilles is going to faint when he sees you!”

She gives him a hand squeeze and a wink, then goes to take her seat. Just as she does, there’s a sound of doors opening. And there’s Achilles. His suit matches Patroclus’s, just like their prom outfits did. He has a yellow rose in his lapel, to fit in with their overall wedding colour scheme. He walks down the aisle with all eyes on him and hugs his soon-to-be husband as soon as he reaches him.

“You’re so stunning, my love,” he whispers, and then sniffs loudly as tears cloud his eyes.

“So do you,” Patroclus says back, his own eyes becoming misty. They both start laughing, because they’re grown men, they really shouldn’t be crying like this. Everybody in the church laughs along with them.

They exchange their vows. They put on each other’s rings. And, finally, after all these years, dying, being reborn, beaten, broken, torn apart... they’re finally together, just in the way they were always meant to be. They cry tears of joy as they share their first kiss as husbands, clutching onto each other until Briseis calls out for them to get a room.

Life continues to go on. They buy a new house. They get a dog named Chiron. After five years of married life, they adopt two young brothers, aged five and six. Patroclus has always known that he wanted to adopt children out of the system and give them a loving home. And they do. They watch their sons grow up, get their good grades at school, break bones playing football, have their first crushes on girls and boys, go to university, move out, get married, have children of their own.

They’re old now: they see their grandchildren; they meet their eldest son’s wife, their youngest son’s husband. They have Christmas and birthdays together. Everything is good. Everybody is happy.

Then Patroclus gets sick. He’s in his eighties now, he’s old and frail. The doctors can’t do much for him and he accepts that. Most of his last days are spent in his bed, Achilles by his side, holding his hand.

On Patroclus’s last night, Achilles talks to him about all the wonderful adventures they’ve shared together. And, even after all these years, Achilles can still make him laugh.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Patroclus passes away peacefully in his sleep, a smile on his lips and his heart still full of love for Achilles.

His husband joins him just two weeks later. Heart failure. They’re laid in the same grave with their names carved into the stone along with the words:

_‘And they could never tear us apart’_

 

-

 

Patroclus finds himself in that dark space again. He sees nothing, hears nothing. He worries that he has finally lost Achilles for good. Every life, every memory, fills his head. He doesn’t want another life. He has found his peace at last.

“Patroclus?”

And there he is. Golden hair. Blue eyes. Achilles.

They rush to each other. And this time when they touch, they stay right where they are.

“I thought it was time now,” says an unknown voice. They both look around and out from the shadows steps Thetis. There is a smile on her thin, red lips.

“Time?” Achilles repeats.

“I have watched you both for over two thousand mortal years now. I have pulled you into new lives. I have always hoped to keep you a part, but I see now that it is written in the stars... you are destined to be together for all of time.”

She sighs and places a hand on Achilles’ shoulder.

“My son, I leave you now. But I believe I have given you at least one happy life. Now it is time for your spirits to take leave from the mortal world. You have served your time.”

Then she’s gone. Achilles takes Patroclus’s hand.

“She’s right. We have lived our lives and now it is time for our souls to have their peace. And, whatever awaits us, we will be together.”

“For all time.”

They walk off into the darkness, looking forward. They don’t know what is ahead, but they know they will be together.

Souls tied by string, destinies written in the stars.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> See, it's all okay in the end! I hope that fluff made up for the first few parts (which I will forever feel evil about writing)


End file.
